


Five Times Garl Glittergold Introduced Davenport to Blossompopple and the One Time He Didn't

by BoPeepWithNoSheep



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, General Garl Shenanigans, mostly fluff tho
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:53:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25391935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoPeepWithNoSheep/pseuds/BoPeepWithNoSheep
Summary: Davenport's experience as an emissary can be described rather well as Never Being Told What's Going On.So when all else fails, look for commonalities.
Relationships: Garl Glittergold & Captain Davenport, Garl Glittergold/OFC
Comments: 17
Kudos: 21





	1. That Plane Where Davenport Almost Had a Heart Attack

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DragonWrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonWrites/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Joker's Wild](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15557187) by [DragonWrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonWrites/pseuds/DragonWrites). 



> Hello! This work is mostly a gift to Jen, aka DragonWrite, aka the AMAZING author of the Emissary Davenport series and the other member of Garl Glittergold's fanclub. You'll probably be a little confused if you don't go read at least Joker's Wild but honestly you should just read the whole series it's great and you won't forget it. I know this fic probably won't attract that much attention being such a niche topic but if you like this I'm certain you'll enjoy Jen's work so go read it!!!

Davenport isn’t prepared for a surprise full frontal assault, which is exactly what he gets the moment he steps into the temple of Garl. There’s a crack of something, perhaps a Warhammer, against his skull that leaves him seeing stars. When his vision finally stops dancing and his ears stop ringing he hears a warm of slightly frenetic voice exclaim, “Oh! I’m so sorry, Utirhant! I-I just got a little excited!”

Davenport blinks, trying to clear the tiny star blasters circling his brain. It occurs to him, subtle as a sack of bricks to the face, that this is what Garl meant when he warned Davenport of _‘an impending meeting that will hit him like a charging hugbear’_. He hadn’t known what to make of it, or the odd phrasing and had assumed that perhaps the name of the species was just different on this plane. Evidently not. He recomposes himself, almost hyper-aware of the fact that the woman still has a hand on either of his shoulders.

She’s the main thing keeping him steady right now.

He manages to keep his voice mostly steady as he asks, “Are you High Priestess Honeybubble?”

At this, the woman practically vibrates with palpable excitement, “Oh! Glady told you about me? He said a friend of his was coming by the temple and any friend of Glady’s is a friend of mine!”

Davenport blinks again, completely flabbergasted as to what the gnome in front of him is talking about. He wonders for a brief moment of perhaps on this plane Garl has an extra epithet he hasn’t heard yet. He’s still a bit dazed when he manages to stutter out, “Gl-Glady?”

“Oh, shoot! I did it again,” She finally releases him in order to snap her finger in apparent vexation, “It’s just so tough to get used to using his proper name, I used Gladtrill for years! Old habits are stubborn to kick, ya know?”

Davenport nods, because maybe if he just agrees this bizarre Glitterbright will tell him why Garl summoned him to this _specific_ temple, a solid five days walk from the Starblaster’s safest landing spot, instead of the one they landed _beside_.

Once High Priestess Honeybubble gives him one final look over she gestures for him to follow and skips further into the temple. Really, Garl could have given him a warning that the particular cleric meeting him would be so much, but he supposes that’s not really Garl’s style. Taking in her appearance his first thought is how young she is to have achieved such a high rank. Glitterbrights can be odd that way, he supposes. Still, she has her station clearly threaded into her dress, glittering rubies that line the edges of her collar and sleeves.

“Anyway, it’s my husband who sent you! Oh! Keep that quiet, could you? He said it’s alright if you know but he doesn’t want the rest of the congregation thinking I married into my position. I’ll have you know, I was already an Emerald Jewel before we met. He was just the sweetest uncut initiate, really threw me for a loop when I found out who he was a decade later, but Garl will be Garl and whatnot.” 

The redhead talks a mile a minute, plowing through any pauses Davenport might find to interrupt until finally, he stammers, “Wait-- _Husband?!_ ”

It’s the first thing that gives the spritely woman pause, “He--He didn’t _tell_ you? Oh goodness.”

Davenport can only splutter as he sends a screeching message to Garl through the door in his heart.

_HEY GARL, WHAT THE FUCK?!_


	2. That Plane Where Davenport Learned True Fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you still reading or who stumbled onto this with no context, I commend you. 
> 
> To Jen, welcome back.

It’s been a few planes since Garl’s summoned him for much more than a brief hello or on one occasion a wild party he spent most of his time in the corner of with some cat he didn’t know was actually a goddess until she asked him to stop petting her back and go back to scratching her ears. This plane had been about the same, dragged over in his dreams for a quick hello the first night then relative radio silence. So, needless to say, Davenport doesn’t expect to suddenly be summoned in a puff of golden glitter and confetti into a terribly cozy looking cottage.

Neither does he expect the woman who suddenly takes his head in both hands and nuzzles first his forehead then both his cheeks like they’re long lost cousins.

“Thank you so much, Dear! Really this means a lot to us, I know it’s short notice but Garl said he explained everything so just be sure they don’t stay up too late and don’t let them trick you into giving them extra snacks.”

Davenport is left alone in the cottage as the familiar ozone smell of plane shift fills the room. with another pop of confetti, the woman is gone. Or rather—he thinks he’s alone until several sets of bright, almost _glittering_ eyes peek out from the doorway. Later, he won’t admit to the immediate sense of fight or flight leaning _heavily_ towards flight in the face of a gaggle of gnome children. Without thinking he raises one hand, giving a weak wave, “Um, hello?”

One child, the middlest of the bunch if height is anything to go by, scurries forward. “Da says you’re Uncle Urtirant.”

An older girl with completely white pupils that refract light like diamonds rolls her twinkling eyes, “It’s _Utirhant_ and he’s not our uncle. He _works_ for Da.”

Yet another child pops out from the doorway and Davenport thinks he might be having heart palpitations, “He can be our uncle _and_ work for Da! Just like Uncle Barrie and Uncle Seggie!”

Three children, he can handle looking after three children for an evening. Three apparently at least semi-divine children if the eyes are any indication. This isn’t _exactly_ what he expected to be doing with his evening but they’ve already gotten the light on this plane so it’s not like he’d have any pressing matters to deal with.

Davenport takes a deep breath and a step forward. He offers the girls a bit of an awkward salute, unsure of exactly how the protocol of meeting demi goddesses and establishing authority as a babysitter is balanced. “I do work, ah, with your father at times. My name is Captain Davenport. It’s very nice to meet you girls.”

“I’m Opalina,” The middlest looking one exclaims, her hand shooting into the air to wave back. Her hair looks more like Garl’s than the other two who clearly inherited Blossompopple’s riotous curls. Then she gestures towards the slightly taller girl with intensely blue eyes, “That’s my twin sister, Sapphira.”

The oldest, or at least he thinks she’s the oldest glances over at her two sisters before redirecting her attention towards Davenport, “I am the _Eldest_ Lady of the Golden Hills, Diamondia Kukabelle Blithemyra Fennelseed Honeybubble-Glittergold.”

She eyes him imperiously, it doesn’t help that she seems not to just be tall for her age but tall for a _gnome_ at all, coming up a little higher than Davenport stands at full height. It certainly adds to the gravitas she’s clearly attempting to put off. The captain suppresses a sigh, he remembers standing that straight and that rigid in an attempt to be taken seriously. He mostly just hopes he never tried to lay it on quite _that_ thick.

“ _Ma_ is the oldest Lady of the Golden Hills.” Davenport startles at the sudden appearance of not one more child but _two_. A girl with fire red eyes as bright as her hair and a toddler with eyes black as coal on her hip.

Diamondia’s cheeks burn as she hotly replies, “Ma doesn’t count, Cinna!”

There’s mischief in the redhead's smile as she sing-songs in return, “Do _you_ want to tell her that or should I?”

Davenport’s eyes dart between the two and he opens his mouth to reintroduce himself to the newcomers--and perhaps ask if there are any more children he needs to be on the lookout for. Then the girl with fire in her hair skips over and suddenly she’s shoving an entire toddler into his arms and Davenport can’t help but sputter instinctually, “ _Careful with your sister!_ ”

“Ha! See, Dia! He’s already a better babysitter than Arumdina. Now we don’t have to carry Obsidianna everywhere!” Davenport adjusts the child onto his hip, freeing one hand in case of an emergency. Said baby, Obsidianna, instantly reaches up and grabs a fistful of his mustache. 

This is going to be a _long_ night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oldest the youngest, Garl and Blossompopple's girls are Diamondia, Cinnabarbara, Sapphira, Opalina, and Obsidianna. I love all of them and all of them but Obsidianna hatched out of precious gems of their namesakes because being married to a god is just Like That Sometimes.


	3. That Plane Where Davenport Punched Garl In The Face

Garl doesn’t actually explain any of the specifics of the mission the god saddles Davenport with. He simply says that the package he’s delivering is of the utmost importance and must be delivered somewhere that Garl is forbidden from trespassing. Honestly, Davenport expects to end up in the heart of Kobold territory, or perhaps in the den of Urdlen, or maybe even that he’s landed on a plane where he and Gelf are trapped in endless quarreling.

What he absolutely does not expect is to be summarily tossed through a hole in the celestial plane, popping out in front of the coziest little cabin he’s ever seen in his life. He carefully knocks on the door, his free hand covertly inching towards the knife hidden away in his sleeve. _Just in case._

The person who opens the door is familiar--but not as familiar as he thinks she should be. He blinks once, twice then he can’t help the words tumbling out of his mouth, “Hello, I’m Captain Davenport, ah--Miss Blossompopple?”

She looks different, but in a subtle way that he almost has a hard time putting his finger on. It’s the hair, he finally settles on, the honey blonde highlights he’s gotten so used to seeing every few planes have vanished leaving her hair almost aggressively red in their absence. However, the most jarring aspect is the fact that she’s completely bereft of any type of holy vestments, and more importantly, the little gold nugget of her holy symbol is nowhere to be found.

He’s used to spotting it presented primly and proudly on a little gold chain around her neck but it is suspiciously absent. In its place isn’t a nugget or even a gemstone but instead a small carved wooden amulet. Squinting at the necklace mostly obscured by her loose hair is--is a frowning mouth?

He’s about to follow up his first, bumbling question with a more formal inquiry when a deep, scratchy voice calls from further within the cabin, “Is that one of _his_ whelps?”

Blossompopple spins on her heel and fires back without missing a beat, “Don’t be _rude_ , you know the messengers haven’t done anything wrong.”

Then she settles a hand on his shoulder and begins to usher him into the house. Were it anyone but Blossompopple perhaps Davenport would put up more of a fight but he’s met her on nearly ten planes so far and in every one she’s been trustworthy enough. A loyal follower of Garl, though not quite a follower in the traditional sense of the word given her unique relationship.

Thus, he has to admit it’s challenging his theology just a bit to spot Kurtulmak glaring at him from Blossompopple’s kitchen table.

“You’re too forgiving,” He snaps, giving Davenport a glare that could curdle milk, “If I were you I would smite at least one of them to send a proper message.”

“ _Turtle_ , I said not to be rude.” Blossompopple turns back to Davenport with a slightly exasperated smile as she gently _hip-checks_ the god of Kobolds’ chair as she passes by on her way towards the oven, "Don't you worry about him. He wouldn't hurt a fly under my roof."

"I am a powerful and wrathful god and _you_ are a powerful warlock, nearly divine being in your own right who should just smite Garl already and steal his divine spark. It isn’t as if his pantheon would object after what he’s put you through.” Davenport watches in awe as the _Gnomesmasher_ grumbles into a teacup--Lady grey if the smell is any indication--and Blossompopple rolls her eyes while pulling a tray of scones from the over. 

She sets the tray on the counter and glances back at Davenport, there’s an almost resigned expression on her face as she scans his person. Her gaze settles at the bag carefully hooked to his belt. Davenport hadn’t actually opened the thing, Garl had cautioned him against it and the captain hadn’t particularly felt up to fending off any anti-spying measures a trickster god could come up with.

She gestures to the pouch, “Garl sent you with a gift, I reckon?”

“I--Yes, he sent me to deliver a package.”

Blossompopple sighs as he hands over the pouch. Kurtlulmak _sneers_ , “More gifts? Surely he isn’t so idiotic that he believes he can still gain your favor.”

“Hush, Turtle. It’s his way of saying he still cares.”

“Not enough to make it count when he had the _chance_.”

Davenport’s eyes dart back and forth as the two volley words like tennis balls. The bite one might expect from Kurtulmak’s phrasing doesn’t quite reach his voice, which lilts with surprising softness. The hard scowl of his mouth doesn’t quite reach his eyes which mostly look--well, as sad as Blossompopple’s do as she carefully opens the apparent gift. When the string closure is released and light streams into the bag there’s a brief moment before light almost seems to pour _out_ of it.

Upending the bag into her open palm reveals a pendant affixed with the brightest, most glittering fire opal Davenport has ever witnessed. Each carefully carved facet sparkles like a sunset on the water. On another plane it might have matched Blossompopple’s hair, fire red and subtle splashes of gold. A sad smile colors her features before she shakes her head, “Well, I’d best put this with the others then.”

Davenport starts, “You’re going to keep it?” 

He isn’t entirely sure of what’s going on here, but he thinks he’s picking up on context clues. Something has happened between this plane’s Garl and Blossompopple. This doesn’t seem like a plane where Kurtulmak is simply an alternate alignment, and neither does it seem like one where Blossompopple is either--though he’s yet to find one with a Blossompopple anything but Enthusiastic Good--so the fact that they seem so close must mean _something_.

“Well, at least this one has some sense in that thick wooly skull.” To have Kurtulmak looking at him with something almost arriving at dull approval isn’t something the captain can say he’s every expected. It’s not a pleasant surprise, really just a more worrying one. Sure, Kurtulmak disapproves of most of Garl’s actions but a gift from a husband is rather mundane to grab such a strong reaction, isn’t it? There’s something here that Davenport’s still _missing_.

“Turtle, we can’t always control who we love but we can control our own actions and we can recognize that sometimes the things we love hurt us and that _isn’t_ okay.” The way she says it, so soft but firm as steel, Davenport knows it must be a mantra. Something she’s repeated to herself multiple times. The way Kurtlumak’s eyes narrow and his nose flares, the gnome knows his guess is correct.

Davenport can feel a little ball of anger bubbling up in his gut and he can see it echoed on the Kobold King’s face. The monarch bares his teeth down into his tea, “I could _certainly_ hurt him if that would make you feel better, Honeybubble.”

“That ain’t necessary but I do appreciate your sentiment. You’ve got the right spirit, Turtle.” Kurtulmak scoffs even as his cheeks darken at the compliment. Her attention turns back to Davenport then as she carefully tucks the jewel away in a small velvet pouch around her waist. 

“Davenport, wasn’t it? You seem new to all this, I’m sure Garl tossed you at me without much of a warning. He doesn’t much like to talk about our deal,” She gestures to the necklace and now that Davenport can actually see it it’s much more detailed than a simple frown. At closer inspection it’s certainly more of a _wail_ than a mere frown, “I _do_ want you to know that Garl is a good god to work for, a good _man_ deep down but he’s--I reckon that _careless_ is the word for it.” 

She pauses, the gnome woman gaining a far off look before shaking her head, “I know he still loves me, and I--well, it doesn’t change the fact that he lied to me but please make sure you give him _my_ message. It’s a very lovely gemstone but _gifts_ aren’t apologies.”

Blossompopple sends Davenport back to his ship with a fantasy tupperware container of scones and a soft pat on the back. She wishes him the best of luck as an emissary and asks him one more time to make sure Garl gets her message. Davenport does, in fact, communicate her too kind words when Garl summons him a few days later.

Of course, instead of scones he leaves his god with a knuckle sandwich.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello readers, and Jen, welcome to the divorce plane. Kurtulmak is a secret softie who learns through the power of friendship that he doesn't hate all gnomes he just REALLY hates Garl.


	4. That Plane Where Davenport Crashes a Wedding

Garl pops out of absolutely nowhere in Davenport’s bedroom one morning, the only thing heralding his entrance the sound of a party popper and a spray of gold paper confetti. Davenport nearly shanks him, purely on instinct, but the god parries his blade with a bottle of sparkling wine of all things. The next first words out of his mouth are, perhaps, the most baffling series of letters assembled into a sentence that the good captain had heard in his life.

Garl proclaims as if it _isn’t_ an utterly ridiculous statement, “So, I need someone to be my best man!”

“I—I’m sorry, what?” Davenport blinks, jaw slightly agape.

Of course, Garl has never allowed something as trivial as Davenport’s shock deter him from steamrolling into the captain’s life. He claps Davenport on the back and reaffirms, “My best man! Well, I’ll also need a groom's party and you already told me you’ve got a crew so you can just bring them along with us! I’m sure I’ve got some disguise accessories around here somewhere.”

Davenport works very hard not to pull his hair out, instead settling for running his hands through it. It momentarily frazzled before he realizes what he’s done and smooths his orange hair into something presentable again. Keeping a facsimile of composure is something so much _harder_ to do in front of Garl, “I haven’t _agreed_ to this, I still have to track down the light of creation!” 

“Well, have I got good news for _you_ ,” Garl’s grin is practically shining--Actually, Davenport thinks it might actually be glowing but it’s hard to tell. He’s still holding the bottle of wine and with a tap of his foot, two wine flutes appear in the air as he pours two glasses and gestures one over towards his emissary. It floats jauntily and smacks into Davenport’s shoulder as he makes no attempt to grab the floating glass. Garl shrugs and makes a toasting gesture anyway before sipping his own, “So, this Light you’ve been looking for? I’m almost certain that it’s in the hands of the High Priestess of Baravar Cloakshadow and she plans to give it away tomorrow.”

That... _wasn’t_ what the captain was expecting, “She’s just—she’s just _giving_ it away?”

“Of course!” Garl grins, his chest puffed out in clear pride, “Only the best for her youngest child’s wedding present!”

Well, _fuck_. He grabs the sparkling wine from the air and downs the glass in one swig. He _has_ to go now.

* * *

“Are those carnations?” Davenport squints at the bouquet off in the corner and shakes his head, “At least spring for something like _anemones_. Really, _carnations_.”

Davenport is scanning the empty but mostly decorated venue like a battlefield. The other gnome trails beside him, gesturing with increasingly less enthusiasm as he glances back over at Davenport’s dour expression. Every grumble has Garl frantically glancing over the arrangements before waving a glittering palm above the flowers. Of course, he heeds Davenport’s advice, that's why he recruited him for this.

The captain is certain the god wishes he could be perhaps a bit more gentle but gentle isn’t going to be the thing that gets Blossompopple the wedding she deserves. He eyes another arrangement critically, “Is that a _tulip_? Do you want the flowers wilting halfway through the ceremony?!”

Davenport can see his crew, all of them in their gnomish disguises courtesy of enchanted bits and baubles that Garl could scrounge up at the last minute. Lup is doing her best to hold back cackling as she watches Davenport eviscerate the groom. He can read the sympathy on her expression as she steps forward, deciding to give the poor bastard a minimal reprieve as she asks, “Hey Cap, when’d you learn so much about plants?”

Davenport meets her stare with a supremely unimpressed one, “We’ve all lived with Merle for sixty-odd years. Get good, Lup.”

* * *

Everyone is mingling quietly in the large hall the ceremony is being held in excited anticipation of the bride and groom. It’s still too early for Davenport to take his position at the head of the hall along with the bride’s best man, her twin brother Ollybeau. The captain had never actually met Blossompopple’s family on any planes, though he’s heard a bit about them. Mostly Ollybeau actually, and occasionally the twin’s mother. Really she so rarely spoke of her family he can’t help but be a bit surprised at the fact that the venue is absolutely full to _bursting_ with Honeybubbles.

According to Garl that was a bit of the point of his crew’s presence, while Blossompopple’s family is a bit larger than usual gnome weddings are known for being massive and to have a completely bare grooms’ party could potentially be a damper on any affair.

Ollybeau had been kind greeting him, shaking his hand and asking how he’d met the groom. Davenport hadn’t stumbled in his reply, friends, and business partners. Not a truth but not truly a lie either. He hadn’t stayed long, of course, mumbling something about needing to check on the bride and scampered off on silent feet. It felt odd to see shades of overbright Blossompopple reflected in Ollybeau’s much more demure presentation. Different than Lup and Taako who had their difference but were ultimately cut from the same cloth in a way that screamed siblings. With these two gnomes, it was really just their identical faces that tipped one off that the two were related at all.

He drifts closer to his crew, they’ve mostly behaved thus far--Really he’s only had to intercept Lup sneaking off once now and stop Magnus from eating all the little pastrami sandwiches before the ceremony even begins. Taako is the one who catches his eye, standing oddly at attention despite his rather mulish expression. Davenport means to nip a problem in the bud before it can bloom as he sidles up beside the elf. 

Taako glances over at him and Davenport returns the look with a level stare. It takes nearly two minutes of their uninterrupted glare off before breaks eye contact in order to roll his eyes with such fervor the captain is surprised they don’t tumble out of his skull. Taako huffs, “I don’t see why we don’t just steal the damn thing, it’s _right_ there.”

Taako gestures to the high table where the bride and groom along with their immediate family will sit once the ceremony is over and the reception begins. It’s truly a beautiful centerpiece, Blossompopple’s mother has a good eye for design. A careful clockwork piece in the shape of a massive heart that seems to pulse with an eerie glow that his entire crew recognized on sight. It’s neatly decorated with flowers, gold and green with a few orange blossoms peeking out here and there. It’s quite pretty and Davenport knows that the thing running the ticking beast is the most powerful magic on this plane. On any plane really, and for once they’re just going to be able to take it without a fight. No blood, no hardship, just one simple task.

Ensure the success of this wedding. 

“Taako, as your captain I am _ordering_ you not to steal the Light, the bride has already agreed to hand it over after the wedding.” He knows it’s uncharacteristic of him. He knows that if this were any other plane, any other wedding, any other bride and groom he would agree with Taako. Perhaps that’s what has Davenport’s hackles rising, that he knows that in a way Taako is _right_.

He shouldn’t feel so defensive, shouldn’t feel like Taako is calling his judgment into question. Or rather, he knows that Taako _is_ but it isn’t for the wrong reasons. The look the wizard gives him is hard and assessing. Davenport knows that look, the elf is trying to figure out how hard he can push. What words will make his captain reconsider his actions, “When is getting the Light ever that easy? The smart thing to do would be, cut our losses and skedaddle with it before they change their minds.”

Davenport sighs he reaches and sets a hand on Taako’s shoulder, “I _swore_ I would help make this wedding perfect. I know it doesn’t matter much to you all but considering what’s coming for this world don’t they--Doesn’t _she_ deserve it?”

“Gee, Cap’n Dork, I didn’t know you liked weddings so much,” Taako’s face softens just the smallest bit. His eyes slide away from the Light and he looks, truly _looks_ at his captain, “This a gnome religion thing?”

Davenport can’t spare this place, can’t fully stop the deluge of destruction, the horrible horrible sludge and terror that will run amok when his crew leaves. However, _this_ can be his wedding present, he can craft them one beautiful day together. It isn’t enough but it’s all he has to give. Davenport releases his grip on Taako and glances back towards the temple entrance where Blossompopple will soon enter and shrugs. 

“...Sure, something like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, hopefully I'll have this fic finished in a few days now that life has stopped kicking me in the face.
> 
> It's not crashing when you're invited but it is crashing again when you start telling the groom that he picked the wrong flowers. Also yes, for the record, Blossompopple had VERY little part in the wedding planning because if you'd asked her a question she probably answered 'Oh, either is fine.' and probably joked about getting married in a shed would have been fine like, you KNOW a big showy statement wedding is ALL GARL.


	5. That Plane Where Davenport Came Too Late

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up that this chapter is where the Angst in the angst and fluff tag is located. I'm gonna give a warning for character death, though nothing technically worse than in canon as well as just general grief.

There are times when Davenport can ignore the door in his head. He can snap it shut and add a padlock because on certain planes as much as he might want to help in theory he just can’t because he and his family have bigger problems. Sure, Garl can force his hand but on this plane he hasn’t. There’s certainly been odd, clumsy tugs at the locks he’d firmly shut the door with this plane but Garl hasn’t blasted them off the hinges yet—like he might if he truly needed Davenport. The Gnomish patriarch must sense Davenport’s desperation, his intense need and eventually, mostly stops knocking.

It’s a rough year.

He’s lost half his crew and one of his eyes. His mood is foul and his depth perception is shit and Garl’s been trying to contact him for weeks but Davenport’s been trying to rescue the twins from a retrieval mission gone bad and not had the time to respond. He’s just gotten back Lup, he’d been too late for Taako and that just _burns_ , when he feels that odd pull on his temple that signals he’s about to get dragged into something with Garl whether he likes it or not—

But it feels _different_.

He’s dizzier than he’s ever been after being warped into Garl’s circle of the Celestial plane. Unsure if it’s a sign of his own impaired sense of vertigo or if this plane’s Garl is a little _off_. Still, he blinks his one eye, squints at his surroundings in confusion because the great golden hall isn’t golden. It’s swathed in black.

“Hello?” 

He calls taking a cautionary step forward scanning back and forth, head whizzing to make up for the limited vision and heart-thumping in panic. What happened? He had never spoken to this plane’s Garl, not really. A few desperate words sent through the door, _‘I’m sorry, I can’t help you. My family is dying’_ after a few too insistent tugs.

Now he wonders if he should have at least answered because this is just eerie. Too quiet, too dark, and so empty. 

“Garl? Is—Is this a prank?” He _knows_ it isn’t but there’s a desperate part of him that hopes, that wishes. This is a bad year, a terrible year. Davenport knows he’s just not that Lucky.

A lone figure emerges from behind one of the many plush black curtains. Their voice manages to boom and whisper all at once, “You—You’re his Utirhant? I-I’m sorry, I’ve never summoned an emissary before. I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

It takes a moment to process, a moment to reconcile the almost hollow-eyed woman swathed in black before him with the jovial soul he remembers from planes past, “Blossompopple?!”

Tentatively, she steps forward, “O-Oh, he told you about me?”

“I—Yeah, he did.” The lie slips off his tongue easily enough because it isn’t really a lie, he’s been told about Blossompopple several times now, just not necessarily by the Garl she’s thinking of. 

This Blossompopple though, there’s something off about her, it’s a subtle thing and it’s not just the fact that she’s so clearly in distress. There’s a glow about her, something about her hair that’s brighter than he’s ever seen it. As he moves closer the differences are more obvious and more startling. There’s gold in her hair, and not just the streaks of blonde he’s used to seeing. When he squints his good eye he realizes that thin strands of spun gold and copper thread flow from her scalp where natural gnomish hair _should_ be.

Her eyes might be the most startling feature now that he can properly see them. They glitter, not with glee or mirth but with a _spark_. All at once, Davenport feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand on edge. His hands shake as he combs fingers through his hair nervously. He can’t quite look away, can’t break eye contact with the other gnome as within his mind he hesitantly reaches towards his tether to Garl.

Garl’s emissary tentatively knocks, Blossompopple flinches.

Dread creeps up the captain’s spine as he softly asks, “He’s not here, is he?”

Davenport has seen Blossompopple cry before, he’s been to three of her weddings and every other time he’s seen it she’s been smothering giggles just as much as tears. Now she chokes back a sound of despair that finally sets off something in the gnome’s brain. He rushes forward, one hand coming to catch Blossompopple’s elbow as her knees give way. She slams into his side and she’s no small woman, especially for a gnome. 

“He—He tried to hold on,” She manages through tears and heaving gasps, “He said not to bother you he—he said it wouldn’t make a difference anyway.”

The captain staggers a bit but manages to keep them both upright.

“It’s—” Davenport cuts himself off before a false reassurance can fall from his mouth because clearly, clearly things are very much not alright and the Captain has seen this kind of grief before, glimpsed it from the sidelines when Barry and Lup lost each other before they’d made the choice to become liches. Yet, Davenport can’t quite force himself to believe it. Surely, if something happened to Garl he would have _known_ , would have felt something, _anything_ would have felt their tether snap.

But it _isn’t_ gone, Davenport can still feel it but now that he’s looking something is wrong. Now that it has his full attention he can feel that it’s _different_. Lighter, more hesitant than before. Davenport had felt the change, now that he’s thinking about it but he’d only thought it was Garl giving up on really connecting with him on this cycle not—not _this_.

“He’s—he’s gone,” The words trickle out of his throat like a leaky tap, stuttering and stopping, “How?”

Carefully, Davenport lowers them both to the ground. Normally he’s not one for quite so much physical contact with someone he technically doesn’t know but--But it’s Blossompopple. He’s seen her on dozens of planes now, joyful and laughing and sometimes sorrowful but never broken quite like this. He lets her lean into his side, he reaches out and carefully folds her arm into his when she hesitates and struggles to find words.

“He was sick—we think he was _poisoned_. We still don’t know who could have done it but it was—it got so bad, Utirhant.”

Davenport grasps for something, any kind of explanation, “How can you poison a god?”

“I don’t _know_ , don’t understand it was just--One day he came home with a minor battle injury and the next he just started withering. ,” It’s a familiar despairing tone, one he’s heard from Merle quietly mumbled or occasionally not so quietly in bad years, “I tried so _hard_ to heal him.”  
  
Davenport shifts his arm, wrapping it around her shoulder and giving the woman a gentle squeeze, “If--If you’re anything like the woman Garl’s told me about I know you did everything you could for him.”

They sit together in the golden hall dyed black in mourning, commiserating in shared grief he didn’t quite know he could feel so deeply anymore. Like an echoing in his heart where sound bounces oddly, a lost book that he still scans the bookshelf for on instinct. He’s sorry, he whispers, and he means it. Perhaps not for all the reasons he should but he’s _so_ sorry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a Doozy but it's actually one of the first planes I thought about. Just to make up for this one tho the last chapter which should be up in a few days will be *much* fluffier.


End file.
